the secret's out
by stydiawrites
Summary: Written for the following Stydia-Fanfiction tumblr prompt: Cliche, but. Stiles and Lydia have been secretly dating for a while, (Malia and Stiles are done) and after one of their rendezvous; neither see the very noticeable marks left in a hurry.


She loves him.

Really, she does. It might have taken a few ( _okay, a lot of_ ) years for her to realize it, but Lydia Martin loves Stiles Stilinski.

He still gets on her nerves, though.

You see, Stiles has this unique ability to ramble about literally anything and everything. From the specific hues of her hair in virtually every kind of lighting, to the many reasons Han Solo is the best deuteragonist of all time, Stiles has a lot to say.

 _Always_.

Sometimes she finds it endearing. Sometimes the voices in her head are too loud and the dips and curves of his voice are all that drown them out. Sometimes the sound of his voice and the brush of his hand are the only two things strong enough to reassure her that the _Wild Hunt_ nightmare is over.

But sometimes, it's unbelievably **annoying**.

Like now, when she's trying to work on her graduation speech and he just won't shut up. Like now, when she keeps reminding him to study but he continuously " _gets distracted_ " by other things. Like now, when he's chewing loudly on some chips and he won't stop rambling about some video game he played earlier with Scott and **_oh god_** he has to stop.

So, she decides to _make_ him stop.

Her pen collides with the top of her desk as she spins around in her chair and stalks towards him. Whatever he's saying dies in his throat at the sight of her like this – focused and predatory and _unbelievably sexy._ She straddles his hips and cups each side of his throat, rendering him totally and completely incapable of looking away.

"Stiles." She enunciates his name carefully, both brows arching as she holds his gaze. "I have one week to craft the most eloquent, thought-provoking valedictorian's speech this school has ever heard. It's a little difficult to do that when you won't stop _talking_."

To his credit, he manages to look **almost** remorseful. Even dutifully snaps his mouth shut, like that'll somehow keep him from rambling on into the night. She tips forward, nose skimming along the column of his neck as she slides her hands lower on his chest.

"We're going to make out for fifteen minutes, okay? Then, you're going to sit there and be quiet while I finish this. Alright?"

Wide, awe-struck eyes blink up at her in response. He nods, hesitant hands moving to rest gently against her waist, the tips of his fingers applying just enough pressure for her to feel him there. Though they've been together for a few weeks now, he seems to constantly grapple with the reality of being Lydia Martin's secret boyfriend.

Which frankly, she kinda understands.

It's not even that he's her _secret_ boyfriend. It's that he's her boyfriend at all. The road they took to get here was long, and winding, and riddled with the deaths of too many people they considered family. But that's why they're keeping this quiet, tucking away their little secret in the cocoon they've created for the sake of preserving their happiness. Good things get ripped away from both of them far too often. They just want to keep this one thing for themselves.

At the slow, uncertain nod of his head, she leans in to press her mouth against his. If she's being honest, she's just as eager to kiss him as she is to silence him. He's incredible distracting, she's come to find, and she kinda loves it.

Not that she'd tell him that.

He breathes a slow, shaky sigh into her mouth, lips falling open so her tongue can brush along his. With a soft groan, he tightens the hands resting against her waist (suddenly, she wonders if _kissing_ is all either one of them intends to do during their short-lived break).

Lydia presses closer to him, fingers moving to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck as she sinks her teeth into his bottom lip and tugs. The sounds he makes spur her on, and she pulls away only to kiss her way to the column of his neck.

If she's going to shut him up, she might as well thoroughly destroy him while she's at it.

Teeth skim along his skin before she settles on his pulse point, lips wrapping around her favorite spot and _sucking_. He digs his fingers into her hips and she shifts, grinding down slowly against him.

It's easy to get lost in him, she's found. There's something altogether **intoxicating** about the way her name sounds when he breathes it like a prayer, and the shivers that wreak havoc along her spine when his fingers start their torturous stroke against her inner thigh.

"How much longer?" He whispers, sounding about as wrecked as she feels. She pulled away long enough to mutter a quick 'six minutes' before switching to the other side of his neck.

"So, hurry. Got it."

He slips those long, beloved fingers of his under her shirt with the sole intention of making her moan. Fingertips close around a nipple and tug, leaving her crying out as she bites down against his skin.

" _Stiles_ —" She's not whining, because Lydia Martin does not whine. She's just… enthusiastically murmuring his name while she grinds down against what is unquestionably a growing erection.

Five minutes. They have five minutes before she needs to get back to work, but they're well versed in the art of quickies. The sheer number of times they've managed to get off in seven minutes or less while the pack was otherwise occupied is downright alarming. So long as —-

"Lydia?"

She freezes, hand splaying out against the button of his pants. Stiles tenses under her, one hand halting its steady climb under her soaking panties while the other tugs roughly at her breast.

"Is that —?"

Footsteps on the stairs send them springing apart, Lydia's hands reaching down to shove her skirt back into place while Stiles grabs for the nearest pillow to cover his crotch.

(Which is pointless, really, considering a werewolf is currently approaching the open doorway, and he'll be able to smell the arousing rolling off of them in waves, and a _single glance_ in Stiles' direction will put the countless hickies covering his neck on display anyway, and —-

 _Fuck_. Stiles has hickies covering his neck anyway.)

He appears in her doorway before she can stop him. Liam Dunbar, with his math textbook tucked under his arm and a sheepish smile on his lips. Like pretty much every other Tuesday night since the world leveled back out and school became their most pressing matter, he's there in hopes of getting some help with his homework.

Unfortunately, he's getting a little more than he bargained for.

"Lydia, I was wondering if you could help me with my —-"

He seems to notice Stiles for the first time, his brows drawing together in confusion. Though it's far from abnormal for Stiles to be at her house, it is definitely weird for him to be on her bed with mussed up hair, a pillow across his lap, and bright, purple-ish bruises dotting both sides of his neck.

Which is precisely why it takes Liam about two seconds to figure everything out.

'Oh! Oh, god, uh — I, uh, just wanted some help on my geometry homework, but, uh, you're busy, so —"

 _Busy getting busy with Stiles, who happens to be your boyfriend, but no one knows that yet._

"It's fine, Liam —" she starts, but someone has other plans.

"Actually, no. It's not. She _is_ pretty busy right now, so maybe you should try again later. Maybe in like an hour. Or, scratch that, two hours. She's gonna be busy for awhile."

She flashes Stiles a pointed glare, but Liam looks like he'd rather be literally _anywhere_ other than right here, so she takes pity on both of them and offers up a compromise instead.

"I'll come over with food and my old Geometry notes in a couple of hours, Liam. Will that work?"

He nods hastily, an awkward little noise lodging in the back of his throat, before turning and all but launching for the stairs.

"Well, that went well," she mutters dryly, already turning back towards the pieces of her speech spread out across her desk. At the sound of Stiles getting up from the bed, she flashes him an incredulous look over her shoulder. "If you think you're getting laid after _that_ , think again. Besides, you have a best friend to tell before Liam does."

"But —-"

Her glare deepens. "No."

With a frustrated groan, he falls back onto her bed and reaches to fish his phone out of his back pocket. "Remind me to tie Liam up for longer next time. Like maybe the entire month."

With a roll of her eyes, she turns back to her speech. She gets to work, and he busies himself with announcing the news of his relationship to Scott. So much for keeping things between them.

And though this was totally not part of her plan, she realizes after a beat she achieved her goal: he's silent, too busy freaking out with his best friend to ramble about video games and Star Wars anymore.

She smiles.

 _Success_.


End file.
